


Nyctophobia

by 15Acesplz



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Enjolras is actually nice, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nyctophobia, Poor Grantaire, String Cheese, Trapped In Elevator, that's basically all that can be said about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/15Acesplz/pseuds/15Acesplz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elevator made a rather alarming vibrating noise and screeched to a halt. The two passengers simultaneously looked at the ceiling and a second later the elevator was plunged into darkness.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Grantaire squeaked. He could feel his heart pounding. “Fuck, it’s dark,” he whispered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nyctophobia

Grantaire tapped his foot restlessly, glancing at the opening doors as the elevator dinged. Some blond guy with groceries. He glanced again. Hm. _Hot_ blond guy with groceries. He tilted his head a third time, met stormy blue eyes, and immediately turned away. _Stop it,_ he told himself firmly. _Don’t be creepy. Pretty blond boys don’t like creepy._ Despite that, he couldn’t help but look one more time, just as the elevator made a rather alarming vibrating noise and screeched to a halt. The two passengers simultaneously looked at the ceiling and a second later the elevator was plunged into darkness.

“Oh, fuck,” Grantaire squeaked. He could feel his heart pounding. “Fuck, it’s dark,” he whispered, protectively wrapping his arms around his torso.

He heard the other man huff, and felt half-relieved at the reminder that he wasn’t alone. All that went away as soon as the guy snapped, “Yes, the elevator is _broken._ Of course it’s dark.” He strode across the elevator, pressed some buttons, and huffed again.

Oh, just his luck. Groceries Guy had an attitude. “Look, I know you’re probably all pissed that you can’t get wherever you’re going, but can you please not be a dick about this?” His voice started off tense but ended closer to wimpy and he cringed, clenching his arms tighter and feeling the darkness closing in on him. _Fuck, fuck, something was going to get him, he could practically feel a presence at his back –_ he slammed it against the wall and slid over to the corner, his breathing erratic.

Meanwhile, Groceries Guy replied, his tone irritated, “Fine. I won’t say anything, then.”

Panic flared up in Grantaire’s chest. “No, no, I’m sorry, please, just, talk, say something, anything, I don’t care what. Please,” he added desperately. He couldn’t think of a single good reason to ask a gorgeous man in a bad mood for help, but he was rather lacking in options.

There was a pause, far too long for Grantaire’s liking, and, oh god, he could feel someone or something watching him, tracking him like prey, something drawing closer and hovering inches from his side, and he gasped, his heart beating wildly, and finally the guy spoke and the danger melted away – though his anxiety stayed, because _fuck_ it was really dark. “Are you… scared?”

Grantaire laughed. It turned out more like a shudder. “Fuck yes.”

“Is there anything I can do?” He sounded hesitant and concerned.

“Just, I dunno, say something. Just talk, so I don’t feel like I’m going to die?” What a stupid, pathetic request. He was probably going to laugh at him.

He didn’t, though. “Well, okay. I’m sorry if this goes badly, I’m not really one for small talk. I, um… Are you sure there isn’t anything else I could do? Oh, wait!” He was silent, but not long enough for Grantaire to panic, because suddenly there was light again. It wasn’t much, just a bluish beam of electricity, but it was enough that relief flooded Grantaire.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Without even thinking he moved across the elevator towards the phone Groceries Guy was holding. “Can you leave that on?” he asked weakly.

He nodded, his eyes darting briefly to the phone. “No service,” he announced. “Looks like we’ll just have to wait.” He sat down with a sigh.

“Jesus Christ,” Grantaire muttered, sinking down next to him. He hated this, hated that he was trapped with no way to get to light and people, relying on the weak light of a phone like it was his lifeline. “Is it okay if we keep talking?”

“Of course. So. Um, what’s your name?”

“Grantaire.”

“I’m Enjolras.”

“Nice to meet you. Well, considering the circumstances.”

“Likewise. So. Um…” He was obviously floundering for a topic of conversation. “So, what’s your phobia called?” he asked at last.

“Nyctophobia,” Grantaire mumbled.

“Does it cause you trouble like this much?”

Grantaire glanced at him. He looked like a ghost in the glow of the phone, with shadows marking every contour of his face. And surprisingly, he looked like he actually cared. Grantaire shrugged. “No, not really,” he lied. He couldn’t count how many times he’d ended up calling one of his friends while he was alone in his apartment, tremendously drunk and completely terrified and usually with tears dripping down his nose, because even after he turned all the lights on he could still feel the night pressing against the windows. But Enjolras didn’t need to know that.

“Well, even so, I’m sorry you have to deal with this.” He turned and rustled through his paper bag. “Would you like some string cheese?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m not about to steal your groceries.”

“Don’t be silly,” Enjolras tutted, turning back with two cheese sticks. “This food isn’t even for me.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Who’s it for, then?”

“The food bank,” he said smoothly, unwrapping a cheese stick. “But I think this qualifies as an emergency situation.”

Grantaire reluctantly took the offered string cheese. “So. You donate to food banks? You know that doesn’t really fix any of the big problems about why people _need_ food banks, right?”

“Of course I know that,” Enjolras said waspishly, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“What,” Grantaire scoffed, “by giving string cheese to desperate people?’

“No!” he insisted hotly. “What I meant was that I’m a political science major with a focus on political and economic reform from within the establishment. I know handing out groceries isn’t enough. It never will be enough. But it’s what I can do right now, and it’s still something. If I have a chance to make just one person’s day better, then I’m going to take it.”

Grantaire wondered if he should tell this strange, passionate man that he used to go to a food bank, right after he failed out of art school and realized he had no marketable skills. That had been years ago and things were better now, but thinking about it still made him feel sick with shame. He kept his mouth shut. “You go, then, I guess. Those are some sparkling ambitions right there but if anyone can make it happen it’s probably someone like you.” Enjolras relaxed his indignantly stiff back, and their elbows touched. Grantaire purposefully didn’t shift away. It was comforting, but not nearly as comforting as when Jehan held his hand the time they both got ridiculously lost in the woods on a camping trip. Why couldn’t it be Jehan in here instead of a completely random stranger? This was Jehan’s apartment building, after all.

“What do you mean, someone like –” Enjolras never got to finish his question, because just about then the elevator went dark again.

“Oh my god!” Grantaire yelped. He grabbed for the phone, etiquette be damned, and frantically pressed the power button. “No!”

Enjolras looked over Grantaire’s shoulder and confirmed his worst suspicion. “I’m pretty sure it’s dead.”

Grantaire handed the phone back to him, groaning. “This sucks. Nothing has ever sucked as much as this.” He hung his head. “Now we don’t even have a fucking light and we have no way of knowing when we’re gonna be able to –” His breath hitched and his eyes stung and he blinked quickly, chastising himself. _Pathetic. Completely pathetic. Only Drunk Grantaire is allowed to cry about stupid things._

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Enjolras recited uncertainly.

Grantaire pulled himself together. “I’m fine. Fine. I’m just a little freaked out. It’s fine.” _This is not fine._

“Are you sure? If there’s anything I can do to make you feel better I’ll do it.” He sounded like he really meant it, and Grantaire gave up pretending to be okay.

“Will you – Oh my god, this is so dumb, but can I hold your hand? It’s okay if you don’t want to. I mean, I’ll be fine. But… Never mind, that was stupid.”

Enjolras was quiet and Grantaire decided he was probably weirded out. Then he said, “Really, I wouldn’t mind that. But if you’re really alright…”

“I’m really not,” he professed. “So is it okay if I…?”

“Yes,” Enjolras confirmed, and suddenly his hand was on Grantaire’s. It was warm and soft and real, much more real than any of the fear. Grantaire felt reasonably calm for the first time since the elevator broke.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“No problem,” Enjolras murmured. “I’m sure someone’s going to come and get us soon. They have to know that the elevator’s broken. Someone will help.”

“Oh my god…” Grantaire said slowly. “Help!”

“Are you okay –”

“No, I’m fine, but we are idiots! There’s a freaking help button on the elevator!” He stood up, dragging Enjolras with him. He couldn’t remember which button was the help button so he shrugged and pressed all of them. “Jesus, we could have been saved who knows how long ago!”

Something near the ceiling crackled and a grainy voice said, “This is 112. What is your emergency?”

“Uh, yeah,” Grantaire started loudly, “we’re in a broken elevator. So who takes care of that?”

“Do you have an address?” Grantaire gave it, and the operator continued. “Is anyone in the elevator in need of medical care?”

“No, we’re fine.”

“A team of firefighters is being sent to your location. They will consult the building technician to ensure you are removed safely. Do not attempt to exit the elevator.”

“Um, thanks. We won’t.”

There was another crackle, and the operator was gone.

Grantaire sighed in relief. “Thank god for the freaking help button, right?”

Enjolras laughed a little. “Thank god for the freaking help button,” he agreed.

It was only a few more minutes before the elevator rumbled, the lights came on, and they started moving again. Grantaire’s eyes strained and he blinked until he could see properly again. And, wow, he had almost forgotten how hot Enjolras was, even while he was squinting like a mole. Grantaire let go of his hand. “Look, uh,” he began nervously, “thanks. You, uh, you helped me a lot. And I really appreciate it. And, well, you’re really nice. So… thanks.” He hesitated, then dug a pen out of his pocket and wrote his phone number on the palm of Enjolras’s hand. “That’s my number. If, you know, you want to stay in contact or something. You don’t have to, it’s okay. I just thought –”

“Sure,” Enjolras interrupted. “I do want to.” The elevator landed and the doors opened to the lobby.

Grantaire just had time to beam at him before being steered out of the elevator by a firefighter and given a brief medical examination. The paramedic told him he didn’t need to go to the hospital, and then he heard a shriek behind him.

“Grantaire!” Jehan trapped him in a bone crushing hug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Prouvaire,” he said with a smile.

“I heard sirens so I came down and I saw you and I was so worried!”

“Well, don’t be. I’m okay.”

Jehan let him go. “Were you scared?”

“Eh. A little.” Jehan raised an eyebrow. “A lot, okay? But Enjolras was there, so I didn’t freak out too much.”

“Enjolras?”

“I guess he’s one of your neighbors. And… I guess we’re kind of friends now.” He bit back a smile that promised to be completely dopey.

Jehan looked around. “Is he the blond guy talking to the police officer?”

Grantaire nodded, and couldn’t hold back a grin.

Jehan shook their head. “Only you, Aire. Only you could find romance in an elevator.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did a thing! I did a cliched thing! But that's what I always do, so,  
> I'm pretty sure I've read every existing exr elevator fic and all of them are about claustrophobia and not nyctophobia! So I wrote one about nyctophobia. Because I have nyctophobia, and it's easy to write a phobia you have without having to worry over whether it's over dramatic or stuff like that. And it's not. All of this is real and it sucks.  
> But everyone knows that the best part of hurt comfort is the comfort! God, I love hurt comfort, how someone just *clenches fist* hurts, and the other person just *clenches other fist* comforts.  
> Well, I hope you enjoyed my random, plot-slapped-me-in-the-face one shot! :D


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